


turndown service

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Fics - Part Two [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, bottomlock, maid outfit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Prompt from @mundancheemudomo on Tumblr:just saw a picture of manga with a girl maid, and now, I imagine Sherlock with this outfit. Smut or fluff, idk...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Fics - Part Two [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968538
Comments: 26
Kudos: 103





	turndown service

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I posted anything, but for good reason! I, very last second and in typical me fashion, decided to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I am working on two projects, one being a prequel for _[Lean into a Loved Body](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388143/chapters/61563799) _ that explores what brought Sherlock to the countryside, and the second being an original fiction story (my first in 10 years!). So I'll be rather busy this month. But no worries, I do plan to update both _[Unfinished Business](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154756/chapters/66316660) _ and _[Hired Gun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958208/chapters/65796877) _ once I'm not chained to daily updates for NaNoWriMo. Also hoping to do another 10 prompt fills in 10 days at some point. 
> 
> Anyways, in the meantime, enjoy this filthy ficlet.

Lying on his back across his bed, John still doesn’t know how they got here. Even with Sherlock lifting a long, pale leg to straddle his waist, easing down onto John’s aching, dripping cock with his prepared hole slick and open, he still doesn’t know what to make of the situation.

The head of his cock encounters faint resistance, slips into tight heat and deeper as Sherlock sinks with a groan. Echoing the sound, John lets his head fall back, almost hanging off the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes, trying to calm his body as it threatens to tip into a premature climax just from the slick grip of Sherlock’s inner muscles around his shaft.

Jaw clenched, John breathes through his teeth and tries to distract himself. His mind darts from topic to topic and finally settles on when he arrived home nearly an hour ago.

After a busy day of treating colds, stomach aches, and one very infected ingrown toenail, John had trudged up the stairs to 221B with fatigue burning through every inch of his body. His mind on a cuppa, maybe some baked beans on toast for dinner and a shower to wash the smell of antiseptic and infection off his skin, he’d nearly missed the outright shocking display in his sitting room.

But he’d cottoned on at the last second. Had frozen, half-turned toward the stairs leading to his bedroom, jaw dropping at the sight caught from the corner of his eye. He’d whirled, nearly knocked over a lamp, and stumbled to a stop a few feet through the doorway.

And stared. At Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair with his legs crossed at the knee, seemingly unperturbed by John’s sudden gawking. Not that Sherlock sitting in his chair with an impassive expression was out of the norm. No, _that_ was perfectly normal.

John just couldn’t remember when Sherlock had ever done that exact thing in anything but an immaculate suit, his rumpled sleep-wear, or expensive robes.

And certainly not in a _French maid outfit._

No, John was pretty sure he’d never spotted Sherlock sitting in his chair in a frilly, cap-sleeved white smock, with a ruffled black petticoat that barely covered the tops of his thighs, and knee-high socks disappearing into shiny black shoes with a modest heel.

His recollection is interrupted by Sherlock slipping a little further down John’s erection, making John’s head snap up, eyes flashing open as he hisses through his teeth. Sherlock smirks and lifts his chin, baring his long, pale neck to John’s hungry eyes. The display rips John right from his thoughts, the rest of the events leading up to the present moment rattling through his mind in a wash of images. Sherlock, rising from his chair to grip John by his tie and drag him up the stairs to John’s bedroom, the door kicked closed behind them. Sherlock’s hands on his body, the soft drag of tulle over John’s thighs as Sherlock backed him against the wall and claimed his mouth. The way that, when his hands slipped beneath the skirt of the ridiculous outfit, John found Sherlock was not only bare beneath the skirt but already stretched and slick with lubrication. How his curious finger slipped inside without resistance, and the sinful sound his exploration drew from Sherlock’s lips as they pressed against his throat.

From there, it had been a short matter of John’s clothing disappearing beneath Sherlock’s demanding hands, the back of John’s knees hitting the edge of the bed. The slow tumble across the mattress, sprawled over the sheets while Sherlock devoured him with his darkened eyes until he’d straddled John and they’d arrived, in a rush of aching, burning arousal, in the present moment.

Sherlock seats himself fully on John’s lap with a little wiggle of his narrow hips, and his head still tilted back, throat bared. It takes all of John’s control to hold still, letting Sherlock adjust to his size and length, knowing the payoff is worth the delay. When Sherlock drops his palms down on John’s chest, wiggles his hips again, and lets his head fall forward with a moan rumbling from deep in his chest, John knows it’s time.

The first roll of his hips is tentative, testing, teasing Sherlock into a full-body shudder. John can feel it vibrating through the points where their bodies join, and he gasps a breathless little, “ _Sherlock_ ,” before thrusting in a motion aborted by Sherlock’s weight on his thighs. In immediate response, Sherlock lifts himself onto his knees, an offering accepted in the form of John’s hips surging upward at once.

The force of the thrust makes Sherlock tilt forward, groaning, his hands slipping. His long fingers curl around John’s sides, gripping the curve of John’s obliques and sliding on the slick sweat rising on John’s skin. He groans again, long and low and slow, as John pushes his hips up, grabbing Sherlock by the waist to hold him in place as he sets a firm, steady rhythm.

The sound of flesh on flesh, the sharp slap of John’s tensed thighs against Sherlock’s arse, punctuates each roll of John’s pistoning hips. There’s a heady edge of brutality to the pace, one that has Sherlock rocking back to meet John’s thrusts, bringing him deeper into the welcomed grip of Sherlock’s body.

John once told Sherlock off for being a show-off. Sherlock’s reply had been a sarcastic, “Well, of course. I _am_ a show-off. That’s what we _do.”_ Looking at Sherlock curling over him, body lifting and rocking back in time with John’s hips brings the exchange to mind. Because propriety _damned,_ Sherlock _is_ a show-off and his tendency for showmanship seems to be put to good use here as Sherlock bares his throat and presses his teeth into his bottom lip, gazing down at John from beneath a thick, dark curtain of lashes.

It’s just coyly sinful enough to make John growl and sink his fingers hard against Sherlock’s sides.

When they find their rhythm, moving in synchrony, John lets his head fall back again. He stares at the ceiling, sees flashes of synaptic bliss before his eyes as they drop shut. The way Sherlock’s body grips him with each thrust, the slick, hot clench of him, is enough to drive him mad. John knows he won’t last long, and it’s this knowledge that has him wrapping his arms around Sherlock, tilting to the side and rolling until he has Sherlock pinned beneath him.

Still seated deep in Sherlock’s twitching hole, John surges forward to claim Sherlock’s lips. He kisses him between shared sighs and gasps and heady moans that drip down John’s throat like honey. The kissing brings an edge of desperation to their coupling, the frantic, upward thrusts of Sherlock’s hips as his legs wrap around John’s waist distorting John’s pace into something sloppy and hectic. The angle changes, John shifting forward until his thighs are flush with Sherlock’s backside. There’s the soft brush of tulle and cotton against John’s pelvis, the skirt of the maid’s outfit crushed between them, and Sherlock’s entire body goes stiff and tense with the sudden contact between John’s throbbing cock and his prostate.

In the next moment, Sherlock’s lips part against John’s, shaping a perfect ‘O’ before Sherlock digs his nails into John’s shoulders, gasps John’s name and paints stripes of cum between them. John feels the hot, thick consistency of it on his belly, the sensation making him shudder. His thrusts, already made clumsy by his nearing climax, turn downright erratic. He’s close, so close, skirting the edge and flirting with release.

Sherlock’s tongue pushes into his mouth, parting John’s relaxed lips with a demanding sweep, and it’s all over. With Sherlock still shaking through his comedown, John pumps his hips forward once, twice, thrice, and seats himself deeply before spending into Sherlock’s shivering body with a low grunt. It feels like an endless caricature of destruction, his mind going blank, whiting out, every muscle clenched with the force of his release.

When his senses return, neural input crashing back over him like a rogue wave at sea, John’s arms give out, and he collapses onto Sherlock’s slack body. The action earns him a soft groan before long limbs wrap around and claim him.

“Sherlock,” John gasps, trying to find the words as Sherlock hums with apparent content beneath him. There is cum on John’s stomach, leaking out around his cock, softening and slipping slowly out of Sherlock’s loose hole. The fabric of the maid outfit rubs against his skin, and John settles for an awe-struck head shake, breathing, “Bloody _hell.”_

He feels the soft, slightly damp press of Sherlock’s lips against his brow, followed by another hum, this one of sated agreement.

“Welcome home, John.” Sherlock’s voice is vividly smug, the velvet rumble blurred by oxytocin.

All John can manage is a quiet, wheezing laugh and a muttered, “You’re barking mad.” A thought occurring, he reluctantly lifts his head, eyelids heavy with satiation. “By the way… why _are_ you wearing a maid outfit?”

A smirk curling Sherlock’s kiss-swollen lips, Sherlock winks and purrs, “It was for an experiment.”

John squints one eye shut. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t experiment on me without my express permission.” His attempt at sounding stern fails spectacularly, and Sherlock’s smirk widens.

“Are you complaining?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock-severity.

Caught by the absurdity of it all, John barks a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “ _God,_ no.”

“Good.” Sherlock’s visible smugness rises to a level John can only think of as preening, and John gives in to Sherlock’s hands as they press John’s cheek back down to his chest, fingers carding through John’s hair in a clearly possessive display. “Don’t throw off my results with your overthinking, John.”

Eyes sliding shut beneath the pleasing scratch of Sherlock’s nails over his scalp, John shakes his head and sighs out, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Y'all know the drill. If your comments are that John is too small/wooby/submissive and/or Sherlock is way stronger/sexier/darker etc. whatever, or that you think John's penis is too small or too vague or too fictional, please move on instead of commenting. I do not, still don't, and never will give a literal fart about John Watson's fictional dingaling. Read or don't, it's your biz. 🐝**
> 
> Also, these aren't quite the outfit I had in mind, but here's some mental image fodder for Sherlock's outfit: [front](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/3004/7724/products/french-maid-product_800x.jpg?v=1546978933) and [back](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/3004/7724/products/maid-bak_800x.png?v=1546978940)  
> That one is satin, and I was thinking more like puffy tulle and such, like [this](https://pinkimpulse.com/images/product/550088_NA_alt1.jpg)


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